Zara Walnut Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout whore—Hannibal Lecter style, ya know, “I ate his liver with fava beans.” This ain’t no polished shit, just me ramblin like I’m chattin over a beer. Whore’s this wild concept, right? Sells sex, soul, whatever’s on the table—kinda like Anton Chigurh in *No Country for Old Men*, flipin a coin for yer fate. “Call it, friendo,” he’d say, and whore’s out there, callin it every damn night. Ain’t no mercy in that game, just cold cash and colder hearts.

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I love wandering those back alleys, too. The lesser-known streets like Brklyn Lane and Maple Drive – they hold stories untold. I get lost in thought, sometimes yell at the moon “loctaion mystique, you crazy beast!” Lol, I know, insane, right? And the best part? Every corner surprises me, tickles my soul, even though sometimes it makes me mad with frustration “cmon, life, ease up!”

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